Getting the Garlic

Getting the Garlic

When I was growing up, family dinners were big. Really big. Every night, ten of us crowded around the table for a big family dinner. And those dinners were loud. We enjoyed the time-honored tradition of every Italian family – arguing. 

My father headed the table and introduced topics of the day. We were expected to have and express opinions. He was expected to disagree. That man loved to argue. Even if he agreed with you, on principle, he would take the other side. 

I remember one epic argument we had when I was thirteen. The topic was “at what age should teens begin dating.” He stood firm at sixteen. I argued for a younger start (even though I had no interest in boys and could care less about dating). The topic grew more heated with my mother taking no sides and my grandmother clearing the table around us, as we zigged-zagged from dating to teen rights to women’s lib until my father ended it by asking, “And will you be burning your bra too?” Since my wardrobe did not include this item of clothing yet, it was a moot point, and we ended there. 

We loved to argue, and yet, no one ever got up from that table angry.  The table became our stage. My brothers told jokes. My sisters told stories. My father recited epic poems (“I had to learn them and I sure am going to use them.”). My mother and grandmother sang in Italian. My grandfather regaled us with a symphony of whistles. Our friends, waiting outside for us to finish, thought we were crazy.

We all had our dinner peculiarities.  The ice cubes in my glass always melted first. This enraged me. With ten diners, ice was at a premium in those old ice tray days. My five siblings blamed all the hot air surrounding my place, but I insisted that somehow they were the ice-melting culprits. I never caught them but suspect them still.

Garlic flavored our meals, perfumed our air and tickled our palates. Now, if you are not Italian, you may not know that EVERY meal includes lots of garlic and that cloves show up with every dish. Somehow, the garlic always showed up on brother Paul’s plate. Paul did not like garlic. We waited for his discovery at every meal -- watching with very innocent faces.  

Our immense cat, Kit-ten, managed to join us at every meal, sitting behind Paul (who sat at the foot of the table in the other captain’s chair) and pushing him off as the meal progressed by simply expanding his girth. Paul usually ended his meal standing at his place while we addressed all remarks to him through the cat. 

Family dinners are a thing of the past for many today. Even young children keep datebooks and juggle commitments. Moms and Dads serve dinner in the car while waiting to ferry kids from one sport, lesson, or club event to another. Sitting around a table with the whole gang seems like an impossible dream.

Every study about family meals shows that dining together lowers stress, decreases obesity rates, fosters success in school and reduces risky teen behaviors. The findings are really impressive. Just one meal a day with your family makes life better for every member. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if every family could share these happy times?

The realities of life make family mealtimes hectic and infrequent. Families should make every effort to dine together regularly. Yet, we can still keep the “flavor” of family meals wherever we are. Family discussions can occur anywhere families gather. Giggle together in the car. Share family news, tell jokes, or recite silly poems. Create traditions – telling serialized stories with each family member chiming in or stopping after practice for a treat. Discuss world events or ponder matters of the heart. Families can love one another anywhere. 

Family time is great – even when your ice cubes melt. The family dinners of my youth were large and loud. We loved one another with the same passion that we argued. Make memories no matter when or where your family gathers. Like a savory meal satisfies the body, family time satisfies the soul. 

Even when you get the garlic.